


Tunnelling Journey

by NotesFromTheVoid



Category: Original Work
Genre: Caves, Gen, Rainbows, Visions, Voidpunk, Walking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24614872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotesFromTheVoid/pseuds/NotesFromTheVoid
Summary: A long journey to a destination you desire but do not know.
Kudos: 2





	Tunnelling Journey

The attempted softness of your footsteps is thwarted by the silence surrounding you. The ancient stone bricks making up the pathway, reclaimed by the moss and fungi and weeds pushing themselves through the rock and cement. The eerie stillness of the air makes you shiver, despite the apparent pleasantness of the temperature. Eventually you move away from the oddly sepulchral atmosphere into a forested area that it at first glance untouched by beings of language and intellect. That impression is an illusion however, as closer inspection reveals the characters carved into the lichen covered rocks littered throughout this space. You inspect each one, taking notes, but ultimately finding what you were really searching for. You see how the lines interact, subtly guiding the eye down to the floor. At this, you open a jar of clear water, collected during a storm that raged under a lunar eclipse, and slowly pour it down the stone, letting the drops collect in the indentations. Suddenly, the markings glow softly, then fade, and the stone moves to the side, grinding along the hard ground. It reveals a tunnel, sinking into the ground, and releasing a quick gust of cold air. You take a deep breath, and begin to descend.

Down. Down. Down. You assumed you'd be walking but as the slope steepened you realised that feeling around for handgrips would be nessercery. You wonder how deep this goes. How far will you have to go. Your aching fingers keep gripping onto the rock, hoping the damp stone will let you keep your hold. Slowly, sightlessly your feet and hands search for the next indentation or little ledge in the rock that will let you continue. After minutes, hours, maybe an eternity, your feet reach something, solid, and flat. The end of the climb. Shaking, you gratefully sit on the ground, taking a brief moment to rest, clenching and unclenching your fists as you attempt to stretch away the ache in your hands. You stand up, exhausted, but compelled to keep going.

What are you searching for? You know there's something down here but clarity is often rare in your field. Searching for the truth amongst the badly translated hieroglyphs of fringe writers and quacks claiming their overpriced drinks will be the panacea instead of just a diarrhea smoothie. But you found this clue in the footnotes of a paper, obscure yes - everything you deal with is, but respectable and by all indications, legitimate and thorough in it's research. It described the tunnel you find yourself in, and the best knowledge is always gained firsthand. So you walk these dark tunnels. Guided by your torch and the badly carved graffiti of whichever soul walked these hallways of rock previously. You are sure there's not much further. But what to, is still unknown.

You wake to the dripping of water through the ceiling. Maybe on the surface it's raining. Maybe not. You try to ignore the discomfort in your shoulder as you get to your feet. Time doesn't really flow down here. You could have been asleep for a thousand years as much as you could have been asleep for a few hours. You wipe the dripping cave water from your face and start walking again. After a few hours you come upon a stream, flowing roughly north if your confused sense of direction isn't lying to you. It's too dark, and the water is too murky to test the depth, so the only way on is a rough, narrow ledge running alongside the stream. You've come too far to not go on. You take a deep breath, climb onto the ledge, and shuffle sideways. Both squatting and balancing on the balls of your feet to avoid banging your head. Progress is slow, but finally, finally you a light source coming through a large gash in the wall. You squeeze and scramble through it, awkwardly trying not to fall on your face.

You take a couple of seconds to blink as your eyes adjust to the new light. The walls match the dark rock that has been your companion on your journey, but they are covered in glowing lime green veins of something softer, pulsing gently. In the centre of the room you find yourself in is a fountain, filled with bizarrely clear water for something this far down. You take the opportunity to clean your hands and face of the dirt that has accumulated as you walked the endless tunnels. Your head spins as the exhaustion of the past few days takes you. You try to sit down, but find the floor has gone. And the veins, covering the walls. You could swear they were moving. You can hear your heart beating. Louder. Louder. You take one, final deep breath, and the world melts in an endless tunnel of incomprehensible colours.

They speak, in languages you can't quite understand. But somehow you know you have to write it down. Write it now. But there's no paper. No pen or pencil. No ink. You try to speak them. You realise you have no mouth, no voice. The words repeat and louder. They burn you, engraving themselves onto your soul like hot blades. Eventually this pain fades. And you realise these screaming colours have made themselves part of you. And one day you will understand want they want, what they are telling you. But in this place with neither time nor form nor matter, your soul spirals into searing, burning union with it. After an eternity, or maybe the opposite. You find yourself face down, lying on grass. The dew, lightly soaking your clothes. It feels as though you have been thrown, as you have to sharply inhale to fill your lungs. You roll onto your back and try to process what you have seen. But you can still feel the words and colours inside you. And they will never truly leave.


End file.
